The Assassin Princess (The Legacy Novels Book 1) (11 page)

Hero didn’t want to listen and closed his eyes to her. When he opened them again the girl had gone and there were only the stars above him. The night was still, a breeze cooling his skin. She wanted him to go to the valley, tonight, while it was still dark. Why should he trust her? Hero knew that the question was already moot though, as he
did
trust her, and it was that simple.

He stood up, wincing as his arms and legs gave him pain, the day’s travel taking its toll. He clutched his sword for a moment of strength, and then called to the others.

“Up, wake up, men. We need to leave, now.”

Amid the objections, Hero explained the latest visitation.

“But, Hero, apart from the fact that we don’t really want to be meeting any rogues, and it goes against the very point of having camped here in the first place, and ignoring the obvious fact that all three of us are exhausted—you never left us. You’ve been here the whole time.” Raven tried to interject, but Kane continued. “And this is what I meant by caution. This mystery girl that only you have seen is sending you—and we along with you—into danger without explanation. We can’t trust her.”

“
We
can’t trust her?” Hero shook his head. “
I
trust her, and you are to follow my orders.”

“If your orders made sense—”

Hero stepped forward and drew his sword. The blade was up to Kane’s throat, who’d been quick to draw his own, but not quick enough. “I shall not be dictated to by you, or have my orders questioned. Do I make myself clear, Kane?”

A shimmer of purple light left Hero’s hand and travelled along the blade. Gathering on the sharp metal tip it winked out at Kane’s throat.

“Okay, Hero,” Raven said from behind him, “we’re all a little tense and tired. Let’s just think about this for a moment.”

“I’m sorry, Hero,” Kane whispered. “You are right. You’re our captain, and we follow you.”

Hero sighed, letting the blade drop to his side. “This is the third time you’ve spoken against me, Kane. I chose you both because you are brothers to me, but you are to be obedient as Guards of Legacy.” Hero looked to Kane, but his face had turned blank, his eyes staring forward. There was no rebellion in them now, but nothing else either.

“I follow you,” Kane repeated. “We go to the valley now.”

What had he just done to Kane? Hero reached out and touched his shoulder. “Yes,” he kept his voice gentle, “let’s be ready.” A dull glow of light beneath his hand, and Kane nodded, his face animate once more. He smiled.

“Right away, Hero.” Kane then moved to douse the fire, while Raven, having seen nothing out of the ordinary, roused the horses and readied them.

Hero watched Kane closely. What had he done to him? What had his given power done? At the least, Kane could be forgiven for rebellious thoughts when all seemed so lost and mysterious, wrapped in a shroud of magic far beyond their understanding. He’d possibly overreacted—but
altering
him as he’d done? He was disgusted with himself. He hadn’t meant to—hadn’t even known he could—didn’t even know what he’d done—but never wanted to do it again.

As the last embers were stomped, and Raven and Kane mounted their chosen mare, Hero took to his own, burying his worry and concern. He was to be strong, the Captain of the Guard.

“Be on your guard,” he said to them, readying to start down the slope and into the valley. “Follow my orders, and if we encounter rogues, we have our horses and our swords, and we’ll show no mercy to those who’d bring harm upon us.”

Where was Ami right now? Were they being guided in a direction that would help her and bring her back to them? To him?

Hero’s heart ached with every moment, and with every moment, he held it in, burying his longing and his guilt.

*

The short ride had brought them through the open gates of the valley where they’d stopped beneath a single torch, hanging high upon a post. It lit the road ahead, a deeply worn track that wound like a river between the hills. Wooden shacks rose either side, decrepit and barely visible.

“I don’t like this very much,” Kane whispered from behind Raven. “It’s too dark to defend ourselves here.”

“Maybe Kane is right, Hero,” Raven said, but Hero had already started moving forward. Raven followed.

Somewhere far off a dog barked, and Hero could hear a river, the rushing water carrying on the valley’s cold breeze that whistled between buildings unseen. Ahead, light bloomed in a haze of mist and there were faint sounds of merriment, the trader’s shacks giving way to taverns. Hero’s eyes darted in the dark, watching for rogues while shadows played with them, sounds of scurrying, rustling. Houses lay dormant around them, their wooden walls creaking.

The taverns were closer now, the tall wooden buildings each side of the track lit with dozens of torches that spilled light into the night, the smell of malt drinks and stale urine potent.

Hero looked from the darkness into a lit window as they passed, seeing a man fall to the floor, his comrades whooping in chorus. Rosy-cheeked women were slumped in the corners while serious drinkers propped up the bar.

“Lively, isn’t it?” Raven whispered.

As living and working was communal in the valley, so was the drinking. There were no rulers, or leaders, no governing bodies of any sort. The contrast with Legacy was not lost on Hero. Without a lord, Legacy fell into chaos and disarray each night, and yet here the whole valley congregated, lost their senses to drink and enjoyed themselves, making music and merry.

A door burst open to their left and a drunk man slunk to the doorway, laughing as he smothered a woman with slobbered kisses. She gave a high-pitched cackle as he walked with her through the alleyways and out of sight. They continued on, letting the voices and light fade once more into darkness.

They passed more taverns as a drunk stumbled beside them in the dark for a while, too far gone to notice the horses. He fell behind in the night.

There was only one more lit building that Hero could see, and it was far off the track to the right, set back in a cluster of trees. A light dusting of music floated through the open windows, but no songs or voices; the smell of tobacco was heavy, and the stench of beer and urine somehow more pungent. There were raised voices within.

Hero clutched his sword. “Be ready,” he whispered. He looked to one of the windows, and in the far off light he saw a man staring back out at him; then he was gone.

The lights of the tavern went off.

“Fast!” Hero shouted and galloped past the tavern, Kane and Raven to his right.

A sound of beating hooves pursued them in the darkness, yelps and cries ripping through the night sky like hyenas, the laughter a mockery.

Hero drew his sword and his men did the same, Kane jumping to the back of Hero’s horse, facing the oncoming enemy. A slight shift in shadow and the air cut with the singing of metal.

Kane blocked the first attack.

Hero threw his blade to the side, metal hitting metal. He kicked out and caught his attacker’s horse, pushing him away, swinging left, fending off another attack. He heard Raven grunt with each swing, a yell from behind as Kane caught one, the thump of a horse and rider hitting the ground.

How many of them were there? They were circling, spreading confusion, and a pull on Hero’s robes made him kick out; he almost lost his balance, slipping without the grip of a saddle. Swinging the sword beneath him, he jabbed backward and felt the satisfying resistance giving as steel found flesh. A yell of pain, and the blade was relieved of its prey; yet another attack up front and Hero swung his blade back forth, jabbing up and to the side, another on his left.

Raven growled as yelps and laughter taunted him, while Hero slashed wildly at the unseen men. Their horses slowed and Kane yelled out, falling backward against Hero’s shoulder.

In the confusion of blood and darkness, a high pitched scream cut through the night and a blade of fire flared into focus. It slashed through the air as a yellow blur, cutting into the rogues. Hero slit a throat, pierced a heart as Raven rallied by his side, their eyes drawn to the mysterious attacker who set their foes alight.

Hero saw eyes of terror, the laughter now screams, a dark hooded figure wielding the tall steel, a sword aflame.

The horses had stopped now, a circle of dead around them, and the last of the rogues ran into the shadow, the fiery blade released, spinning through the air and into the man’s back. He fell to the flames.

There were none left alive.

Hero dismounted and stumbled over the bodies, peering out into the night at the stranger who’d saved them. The girl’s hair was long and messy, lit in the flames of the dead. Her eyes were ablaze with triumph, her rosebud mouth parted. She walked past Hero and to the last man down, pulling her sword from his back. The flames burned low, and extinguished.

“I think your man is injured,” she said between panting breaths.

Hero turned back to the horse as Kane slumped forward and slipped to the ground.

Raven was already there, turning him and assessing the injury. “Hero, it’s bad,” he said, blood flowing freely from Kane’s abdomen, his robes rivers of red. The horse was red. Everything was blood. “I don’t know what to do, Hero. He—he won’t last long.”

Pushing past the girl, Hero dropped to his knees and felt Kane’s pulse. It was weak. His breathing came in guttural bursts.

“Kane, can you hear me, Brother?” Hero cradled him as best he could, listening for words. Kane managed something, but Hero was unsure what it was. “Kane, I’m sorry, your injury is—” Hero looked into the blood and grimaced. It was his fault, his brother was dying, and it was his fault. “Kane—I am so sorry.”

Raven looked up to the girl. “Do you have anyone?” The girl shook her head. “You don’t have a physician? Anyone who could—?”

“The wound is not healable,” the girl said, her face pained, her eyes now glassy. “No one can help.”

Hero turned to her, and then to Raven, back to Kane, who opened his eyes and looked up. He coughed, red spittle leaving his mouth and hitting his chin.

“Hero,” he croaked, “your—” but he didn’t need to finish. Hero knew what he was going to say, but he didn’t know—didn’t even know how to try—yet found his hand already over Kane’s wound.

His fingers sunk into the hot blood, his palm resting over the torn flesh.
Please
, he thought,
please let this do something?

But Hero felt nothing, and Kane was slipping, his eyes rolling in his head. His body began to shake, but Hero kept his hand on the wound, pushing, pushing.
Please. Heal.

There was a glow of light in the dark, purple under his palm, that was quickly gone. He dared not lift his hand.

Kane’s body had stopped shaking and his eyelids fluttered open, his eyes blindly finding Hero. He licked his lips, and Raven gave a laugh.

“Hero, you did it.”

But Kane was speaking.

“Kane, what was that?” Hero bent closer to his brother and friend.

“No…pain…” he said and the breath left him, caressing Hero’s cheek.

And then there was no more.

“What—but, no, Kane!” Raven pulled on Kane’s shoulders, but his head fell back to the ground. “Hero? It worked, it did. Why has he—?”

Hero shook his head, looking from Kane to Raven, understanding. “No, Raven, it didn’t work, not to save him. It just took away his pain. It gave him peace.”

“No!” Raven looked down at Kane, shook his limp form. He faced Hero. “You killed him? You killed him!”

The girl stooped down and held Raven to her as he broke, the sobs heaving from his chest. He turned away from his friend and held the girl tight. Her eyes swam with sorrow in the dying light, and Hero looked from them to the dead eyes of Kane.

He closed them with his fingers, turning to the stars above, a corridor of lights between the crests of the hills.

“When I was
young, I loved nothing more than going on adventures with my brothers. We would gallop through the forests and play fight on the meadows, chasing each other into the wilderness. Some days we would venture south toward the sea, following each of the many rivers in turn through the deep marshland of the Madorus Lands. Other days we’d explore the borderlands between Noxumbra and Solancra, though the elders would always warn us off, telling us of dangers beyond the valley.

“Evenings were made for quiet times, and I would lay upon the grass and stare high up into the branches of the trees watching the butterflies swoop down, swirling and dancing through the mysterious light; mesmerised by their magic colours, I would watch them float down and settled upon me, fluttering their tiny wings before gracefully taking off again, and disappearing into the sky.

“Solancra was my whole world. It seemed so much bigger back then, when everything was much taller, much further away, and I was so much smaller—all I’m really saying, of course, is that I was once young and had not a care in the world, and I was happy.”

Talos paused and tilted his head toward the dull din of the desperate voices, chains rattling, fingers scratching at damp rock; they were quieter than they had been, their pleas only murmurs in the dark. Were they distracted by the unicorn’s story? Ami saw it all in her mind, though unfocussed and faded, a cine film played on a projector.

“Life was good,” Talos said, looking back at Ami, “and continued to be good as I matured and found myself a filly, a beautiful and gentle soul by the name of Florina. We became mates and soon had foals of our own, settling in the far south of the Solancra Forest to raise our family, close to the Madorus Lands. It was the perfect spot for us. Shade and shelter, plenty of water, and the plants, nuts, and berries that grew within those wetter woods were nutritious. During the day we’d graze and frolic in the lower lands of the valley, where the river splits, and splits again. At night the trees provided us with shelter, a nest of pine-needles, leaves, and grasses where we huddled together to sleep.

“It was on one such night that the world changed for me forever, and all previous idealistic notions were shattered; it was the night I met the only true evil I’ve ever known.

“I’d been asleep, Florina nuzzled beneath my head, my tail swept around us both, our foals curled at our hooves. I don’t know what awoke me, but when my eyes opened the man was already standing before me in the darkness. He was obviously of ill will, the way his face burned white in the night, the fact that he skulked so near to us in the shadows. I was ready and leaped forward, but he was ready for me in return.

“My horn and legs were immediately covered in a green light I can’t explain, and I fell to my side, unable to use my power. I tried to call out to Florina, to the herd, but found myself mute, my tongue still and my jaw bound. Only my eyes were free, and I watched helplessly as my beloved Florina was also captured.

“We were then dragged through the forest, Florina’s eyes wide and fearful as she struggled silently beside me. We couldn’t escape our sudden capture. Trees blurred by, the forest floor rough and painful as we were tossed this way and that, eventually falling clear of the forest altogether, landing upon each other in a heap.

“I heard water close by, and in the glow of our bindings I saw a spring breaking from the dry earth. A black path lay at the foot of that spring, and to each side, black trees like walls.

“The man was there, his white hands grabbing at Florina’s horn. I scrambled and struggled against my bonds, but couldn’t break free to stop him as he took hold of her. I wanted to scream, but I had no voice—I had tears though, and I cried—I cried as I watched my beautiful Florina’s power being drained from her. It was a terrible and horrific thing to witness—painful to recount—yet somehow still awesome in its own way. Her power flowed from her horn in many coloured sparks, pulsing reds and purples, yellows and greens and finally whites. Her light faded and her struggles diminished as the man’s power increased and he took her colour and power.

“He then pulled her forward, and I was in silent agony. Florina gave one last look back at me, her eyes as wet as my own, and that was the last time I saw her, for one moment she was there, and the next she was gone.

“And then it was my turn.

“I felt his hand grip around my horn and an overwhelming feeling of loss came over me. Loss for Florina, our foals, our undisturbed and magical lives. I felt it all sink and seep from me as the man drained my powers. I looked up into the darkness, smelling the water and the fresh mix of wet earth and dewy scrub, the scent of pinewood and old, old oak. I could smell the flowers, and their names ran through my mind: fria, daysay, balia, and popps, and I could see nothing. The smells surrounded me and comforted me. They were the perfume of love, of Florina, her only and last beautiful tribute.

“My body submitted, and I became weak, all the colours and light stolen, all of my heart destroyed, everything lost within moments.

“I was pulled forward.

“To my side, the man lit was a sinister flame, a beacon of warning to all to keep to the shadows. His skin was sickly white, sheened and luminous. He grinned, and then there was nothing.”

The light from Ami’s sword lit pale footlights for his stage, and she saw the sadness in that light, as if the colour and the power had only just been drained from him, washed out and faded.

“The nothing passed quickly, as sleep does for the sleeper, and I was left standing at the mouth of the river, watching it wind its course between the wooded borders of the Solancra and Planrus Lands. The sun was high, early afternoon, and I had lost hours of time, maybe longer. The land had turned from the nightshade’s poison to a garden of creation. All around me I saw the flowers, the same flowers I’d named and given as my last thought to Florina. The trees were high and looked new and different somehow.

“And then Florina weighed on my heart again, and I looked around for her in sudden desperation. She’d entered, the same as I, but she’d not returned. Behind me was the dark entrance to the wood, and to the right, stepping from the shadows, was the man.

“I was free and could move, but his approach was swift and unexpected. He raised his hand and the very earth rose up, the mud sliding up my hooves and hardening like clay, locking my legs in place. The black dirt licked around my horn also, and I was once again at his mercy. ‘What did you see, unicorn? What did you find?’ he asked, his face a distortion, no longer human. He lunged and grabbed my horn.

“The blast of power I felt from that touch was excruciating, a shock passing through my limbs, my organs, running through my skin. I felt the power penetrate me, forcing its way into my mind. My own power, what was left of it, flowed out of me in return, weakening me further, and a conversation broke out between our minds, the feeling both invasive and freeing. There were no questions, and no answers, no pleasantries required, just knowledge and information. I knew who he was suddenly, and I knew where he’d come from, and I knew what had happened—the history you’ve been told—I knew everything. I knew his name and his intentions, and I knew I couldn’t give him what he wanted—and then he knew that too.

“‘Why won’t you tell me?’ he demanded, letting go of my horn. I was too weak to continue standing and fell forward, the clay breaking as I plunged into the fast moving water.

“The river swallowed me whole and spat me to the surface, and gasping for air I was swept downstream, barely keeping my head above the water. I sunk and rose, dipped and rolled—was pushed into a spin. And then I saw him. He stood on the bank ahead, a sword in his hand. He’d jumped across the water, though I saw no more as I was spun again and hit the riverbank—and then I was on land.

“Drained, weak and confused, I tried to stand but couldn’t. My body was broken. All I could see was a grey cliff that scraped the sky, and then he was standing over me, eclipsing the eclipse, dragging me through the sand into this very cave.

“I think a part of me simply gave in to the inevitable—this was my life ending. Florina, our foals, and now a dark, cold cavernous ending. And for what? I was stood up against my will, my body wracked with pain, my screams constant, my legs holding my weight though each bone had been smashed by the turbulent river. Small green flames ran over me, thousands of them, like fireflies racing across my body, stretching me, pulling and pushing my body back together until I was fixed. He controlled me like a puppet then, walking me beside him, glaring at me with a grin like a cracked sore.

“My eyes hadn’t fully adjusted, and I could see very little, but I heard the voices as you’ve heard them, and felt the grasping hands as you’ve felt them, though I understood the words they spoke and spat, where as you did not—but I was one of them, you see?—I was a captive.

“Grubby cold flesh touched me as I was moved forward, my limbs screaming pain that my brain couldn’t take. Moans escaped me as I spied the old faces and mad eyes in the dark. One man reached far out of his alcove and touched my horn, and a flash of who he was came to my knowledge. A second man did, and then a third, and it is here that I shall tell you who they were.”

Ami looked to the darkened voices, quieting as their cameos began to roll. She saw the scene playing in her mind, the film flickering and stuttering, showing images of men on horses, men in heavy armour under a hot sun; men with sane eyes and determined looks, in procession and on a mission.

“The first who touched me was called Daniel Hawks.” Ami saw a man with a short brown beard, his bright blue eyes piercing. “A member of the first Guard of Legacy, he was one of seven men given the task to enter the Mortrus Lands, to explore and to conquer.” Another man came into Ami’s mind, sitting on a horse and laughing, a half-eaten apple in his hand. “The second man who touched me was Evan Holmes. He was an explorer and a fool who’d entered the Mortrus Lands with naivety and stupidity.” A third face wavered into Ami’s mind, a young and handsome man, wearing a simple leather jerkin and holding a sharp knife. “The third man to touch my horn was Henry of Heartlands, a direct descendant of the first settlers of Legacy, and one of the few from those first descendants to enter the Mortrus Lands. All three of those men are still here, and you were touched by two of them.”

Ami shuddered as the image of Daniel Hawks was replaced by the old man who’d reached out for her, the first she’d seen with his bright blue eyes; and then the image of Evan Holmes, throwing his apple into the air and catching it, replaced by the putrid corpse, begging to be taken back to the Mortrus Lands. Then the images fell from her eyes. She looked down at her hands, barely lit and shaking.

“I was chained and shackled and tortured horribly,” Talos said, his voice quiet. “I’ve watched as each man has been tortured and tortured again. Adam uses his sword, once a unicorn horn, in the most unspeakable ways.”

“I’m sorry.” Ami’s voice broke. “I’m sorry he tortured you, all of you. What is it he wants from you? Why did he take you? Why the Mortrus Lands?”

“He wants to know what’s within the Mortrus Lands, and why a new heir wasn’t sent back. He wants to know what happened between him and his father, and why he cannot remember. He needs questions answered as to why he cannot re-enter Legacy—and the answers to all of those things live within the Mortrus Lands. If he knew and could overcome whatever magic keeps him away, he could enter and destroy everything that his father built and exact his petty vengeance on the whole race of men—maybe across all layers.

“But for now he cannot enter, and does not know why. Before your existence was made known, he scoured the land for those who’d entered the Mortrus Lands, and tried to force the memories from them, as none of us remembered. He gathered those who’d entered and had gone mad, finding them in the mountains of Edorus where they’d been abandoned and lived as hermits and outcasts. He gathered them and brought them here, one by one, to torture information from them; but with each attempt, no matter how much power he used, he found nothing. He’d eventually come to believe that it was because they were only
men
and not like him. They lost their minds too easily, were too weak, and so he tried to kill them, yet they wouldn’t even die for him. He had the most success with poor Evan, if you can call it a success. He sped up the decay of the flesh, though it still didn’t kill him. He rants here still, chained through his rotted remains.”

Ami felt sick, and covered her mouth with her hand. All this? All of this from entering the Mortrus Lands? This was the place where Lords of Legacy had entered and emerged from, including her own father—what was so different about these men?

Talos continued, sighing as he did. “He couldn’t hope to find anything out from them, and Adam eventually formed a new plan. He found new subjects, ones that were not weak men. He chose unicorns. He chose Florina and I. The men chant ‘Many go in, one must go’, and so he took both of us, hoping that one of us would reappear. I did, and Florina was lost.”

The unicorn shook his head from side to side.

“I’ve come to feel that Adam’s torture is a distraction from the loss of living. You see, although I may not have gone mad as the humans did, I have suffered from my forgotten visit to the Mortrus Lands. The loss of Florina and my family is my suffering, as Florina is surely dead and the fate of our foals is unknown. I haven’t seen the daylight since my imprisonment here many, many years ago—and it has been so many years, hundreds of years.”